


Daemon Hunter (Relics of Valonia)

by Plutonically (Simplici_Tea)



Category: Original Story, Original Work
Genre: Action, Adventure, Banter, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fantasy, Female Lead, Heist, Magic, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Romance, Sarcasm, Saving the World, Sex Magic, Sex Positive, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplici_Tea/pseuds/Plutonically
Summary: After a museum heist goes horribly wrong for Selene Sidra, she must team up with the last being a thief wants to be caught up with; a member of the cadre whose sole purpose is to hunt down non-human criminals and bring them to justice.Emyr Beaumont has struggled for the whole of his life to keep the power he was born with under control, but it’s become impossibly hard as of late. When he crosses paths with a notorious thief, his world is thrown into chaos as they begrudgingly race to banish what they’ve let loose into the world.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Who didn’t love a good robbery? Selene Sidra lived for them. The drama, the news reports, the debates on which gang or independant went after the goods. It all gave her a rush, one that began as a smile she couldn’t stop from tugging up the corners of her lips, then as a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, before it became all out glee.  
And the thrill of a good chase? There was nothing like it. Sometimes she wished they would last longer.  
It was a perfect night for such an adventure. The sky was washed with gentle moonlight and the promise of mischief on the wind. It was late to the folks who had to work in the morning, but early for those who sought a night out. And for those who chased after pleasure or danger, there was no better place than Veywell. The very city seemed to bathe in such things, to relish the chaos that was inexplicably drawn to the land upon which the city stood. Perhaps it was a coincidence, or the occupants of the city that brought such things along with them, but it was common knowledge the place was a breeding ground for supernatural shenanigans. If legends were to be believed, the gods had fought in ancient times, and when their blood struck the earth, it twisted the very soil, implanting seeds of power, of chaos, of the very things that would soon enough be woven into the city.  
Personally, Sidra considered such things utter bullshit, some human way of explaining what the actual fuck was happening in Veywell at any given moment. All manor of creatures ended up here, as if they were drawn with a magnet. Then again, maybe it was the food. With so many different branches of beings, the culture within the limits had many faces and facets, some lovely, others deadly.  
A gunshot rang out, bouncing off the wall beside her as she ran, swinging her backpack securely over her shoulders and putting on a burst of speed. Yes, she loved her little hobby. The near death experiences were a little unnerving from time to time, but it would take more than a simple human made bullet to kill her. Getting shot hurt like a bitch, but she was lucky to heal fast. Guess her heritage was worth something after all. Not that the humans thought so.  
Angry shouts called after her as the human police gave chase, all lagging behind pitifully when pitted against her natural speed. One would think that they’d clue in and call the cadre instead when these things happen. Even if the threat turned out to be human, they were better suited to handle it than the bumbling human police.  
Before her, a man slid into view, leveling a gun at her, panting. Sidra grinned broadly, showing canines and lunged, feigning left and bolting right, giving the man no time to properly track her movements. Using the wall of the alley, she kicked off and used the opposite wall to fly right over his head, landing in a run on the other side. Perhaps it was a bit extra, but she loved the dumbfounded looks on human faces as they realized they weren’t dealing with one of their own. If only she had time to relish this man’s expression. But alas, she had no wish to be caught this night.  
She heard the man grab the radio at his shoulder and rapidly call the others, stating his location and that the thief was a possible non-human.  
Possible my finely shaped ass, Sidra thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she slid around a corner. If there was a human alive who could do what she could then she’d give up thieving altogether and get a soul sucking office job.  
Why they were so bent out of shape about a few little trinkets being rehomed, Sidra would never understand. She made sure they were all sold for more than they were worth, so of course they would be taken care of by their new owners. What was the museum really doing with them anyway? Letting them sit within the walls of some dusty old building that claimed to be important. As if the internet and image searches didn’t exist. What in the hells was the big deal? Then again, she got paid handsomely for her services. She supposed it was good someone was invested in thousand year old relics that were only as good as paperweights. It was ironic that these items were called priceless, and then the first thing people did was put a price on them.  
Behind her, she heard the police calling for her to stop, to freeze, to hold it right there! Wondering if that ever actually worked, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself as she rounded a corner and launched herself upward to grab the bottom rung of the nearest drop ladder, ten feet off the ground. It gave a rattle, but stayed affixed where it was. Dragging herself upward, Sidra couldn’t help the grin that split her face. Faster than it took the police to round the corner, she was at the top, hoisting herself up onto the rooftop. Swinging her leg up, she rolled onto her back and panted, elation running through her very veins. Closing her eyes, she listened to her heart pounding in her chest.  
Homefree.  
She heard the police run by far below, turning a corner, their shouts and calls to stop lost in the night as they ran right past their quarry. Sidra let the cool night air fill her lungs and kiss her cheeks as she caught her breath. A giggle escaped her throat, and she opened her eyes to stare up at the stars above. They shone brightly, accompanied by a very full moon.  
In one motion, she sat up and pulled her bag off her shoulders, sitting with her legs criss-crossed as she dug into the depths. Her fingers wrapped around a hard case and she pulled it free, biting back a squeal of delight. Within the glass casing was a gem so large and abnormally shaped, it was one of the most viewed pieces in the city of Veywell. It’s iridescent face shone in the moonlight, and Sidra was astounded by just how much the crystal formation resembled a screaming skull. It was hardly the size of her fist, and yet it sat heavy in her gloved palm. She could only wonder how the museum had gotten hold of it, or where it had truly come from. Some said it was the cursed remains of a dark magic item, others said it was a relic of a long forgotten goddess. What Sidra thought it was, was a bigger apartment on main street with a view and a couple of nice cars to go with it. She just needed to find someone willing to buy it.  
The skull was not the only thing she had nabbed from the Veywell history museum. Along with it she had snatched a handful of diamonds, a slab of gold shaped like a sitting man, and a few other trinkets the museum had just gotten in from another city. They all tended to share and swap items with one another. And each time a new exhibit opened up, Sidra was there to admire the things she would soon be borrowing. One would think the museum operators would learn not to send their precious goods to Veywell by now, but she really didn’t make a habit of robbing museums. The occasional bank or ATM, sure, even the occasional tourist when she was bored or desperate. But the museums she mostly left alone. She’d gone a whole month between thieving, and was quite proud of it. But her rent was atrocious, and Etta couldn’t be bothered to help half the time.  
As if summoned by the thought, her phone began ringing. Digging the phone out of her inner jacket pocket, she recognized Etta’s name flashing across the screen. She answered, dumping her bag out to survey her haul.  
“Did you get it?”  
“That and then some,” Sidra said through a smirk, lifting the skull to the light and marvelling at the sight of the moons glow shining through it.  
“Good. You should get back here now,” Etta said, sounding anxious. “Uncle Ray’s people are here waiting. They said it’s best to get the stuff out of the city as soon as possible, so it can’t be tracked easily.”  
Frowning, Sidra let her hand drop, still cradling the skull of shining crystal. “What do you mean they’re there already? That wasn’t the plan. We were to meet tomorrow.”  
She could practically hear Etta glancing at Uncle Ray’s people as she lowered her voice. “They just said there was a change of plans. That’s all I know. Will you hurry already?”  
Sighing heavily, Sidra began tossing her things back into the bag. Etta was a nervous thing, much too nervous to be the niece of one of the biggest crime bosses in Veywell. Ray Caldwell was a nasty son of a bitch who would sell out his own mother to the cadre if she were to piss him off. Considering Etta had never spoken of her grandmother, it was a fifty fifty chance the man had already done something of the sort. As she prepared to hang up, there was a rustle and a muffled voice on the other end of the phone, and Sidra waited for the inevitable.  
As expected, a rough male voice sounded in her ear a second later. “Thirty minutes, Sid, then we’re gone.”  
Shock and anger flooded her as she stood up and began pacing. “Thirty minutes? Wren, I can hardly get across the city in that time, let alone do it without being seen. Make it an hour.”  
“No can do,” came Wren’s rusty reply. “Boss’s orders. Better get moving, now it’s twenty five.”  
He hung up on her, and she had to stifle the urge to smash the phone into a million pieces.  
“Fucking jackal prick,” she growled to herself as she moved to the edge of the roof, bracing to launch herself to the next rooftop. “I hope you get fleas.”  
Sidra crouched slightly, gathering the strength she would need to jump to the building across the street. She knew she could do it, had done it a thousand times before. But as she gave a quick running start, she didn’t account for the gunshot, or the fact that it actually hit her. Off-balanced but having gathered too much momentum to stop, Selene Sidra instead hurled herself from the five storey high rooftop and into the night below.


	2. Chapter 2

Emyr Beaumont was doing his best to ignore the incessant calls that would not allow his phone to stay silent for more than a few moments. They had begun just after midnight and had not let up in the half hour since. Grinding his teeth, he fought back the urge to smash the phone. But if he didn’t answer, they may send someone to check on him, and he couldn’t have that. Not in his current state.   
He’d fought off the change for some time, but it got harder as the night wore on. It was a weakness, one the cadre would not allow within their ranks. But he couldn’t risk being found out. He couldn’t risk ignoring the call and being found writhing on the floor half changed. No, he had to get a hold on this. Right now. Staggering to the medicine cabinet, he grabbed the bottle labeled as lactose intolerance pills. Emyr was not in fact lactose intolerant, but he was in need. The pills were mislabelled on purpose. Rarely did he have guests, but when he did he could not allow them to see the suppressants that would give him away. Already, he’d taken more than the recommended dose within the last few hours. And already he needed more. Rolling two more into his palm, he stared at the red pills for a moment before adding a third. Cupping water into his mouth, he leaned his head back and swallowed them, waiting a long moment before looking at himself in the mirror. His curls were unruly as ever, and he definitely looked like he’d had a rough night. Curling his lip, he watched as his canines slowly, ever so slowly, began to retract. They were always the first to pop out and the last to leave during the change. If they were withdrawing, the pills were already working after just a few minutes. Good.  
The ringing of his phone drew him back to himself and he stiffly moved to answer it with a rough greeting.  
“Emyr, what the fuck, I have been calling you for forty five fucking minutes!”   
“Ophelia, always a pleasure to hear that foul mouth of yours at one in the morning,” Emyr said, hoping to attribute the rough quality of his voice to sleep.   
“Oh, go blow yourself,” the woman on the other end said.  
“Does it ever occur to you that I might be?” Emyr snarked back.  
“Only one that would,” she teased. “Listen, that thief hit again, at the museum this time. They nabbed the Skull of Valonia and fucked off.”  
Stifling a groan, Emyr winced at the thought of chasing a thief aimlessly into the night again. This same thief that had eluded the police and the cadre for months now, no doubt. No other was ballsy enough to hit the places this one did.   
“But wait, there’s more,” Ophelia said in a giddy voice. “One of the cops managed to clip him. He disappeared but we’re sure he hasn’t gotten far. Chances are there’s a trail for a certain wolf to follow. If he ever picked up his godsdamned phone once in a while.”  
Emyr paused. Well, shit, no wonder Ophelia had been calling endlessly. This was huge. Not something he could pass up.  
“You okay, or did the mange mutate and make its way into your brain?”  
“Fine,” Emyr growled defensively. “I’m fine. Send me the location and I’ll be there.”  
His phone pinged,as if she’d had the information waiting for him to ask, and he pulled back to look at it.   
“See you soon, pup,” Ophelia quipped and hung up.  
Emyr stared at the phone screen a moment longer, taking in the location. “Fuck.”

It took less than ten minutes to gather his gear and only another ten to get to the location. Traffic had dulled down after midnight and even the late night revellers had seemed to sense something was going down in the city, staying mostly out of sight as the police presence grew. It also helped that Emyr’s motorcycle could easily slip between cars on the road, something he’d learned to utilize after his first year in Veywell. The city made a habit of being unexpected, which he supposed was part of its charm. It was also fucking annoying.   
As he drove past the museum he could see a large human police presence. Three cars, a handful of cops, all vigilant and serious. They would be searching through the museum by now, trying to find any clue as to how the thief got in, what all they took, and if they left anything behind. It was the most useful they could be at the moment. The human police were competent enough, but when it came to those who had magic in their blood, they were out of their league. They’d learned to call the cadre, for the most part.   
Which was why when he pulled up to the unmarked car he recognized as cadre, he could only find one police officer running crime scene tape along the boundary to keep others out, and two cadre members near by. Another thing they’d learned and learned well: if you want a wolf to track, don’t muddle up the scene with your own scent.   
Ophelia swung out of the cadre vehicle, all long limbs and dark charm. She was a medium, but she chose not to work with people, claiming they had far too much emotion. It was why she preferred working with computers and avoiding physical touching at all costs. Her black leather gloves weren’t so much for style as they were for function, as she couldn’t control what she saw or sensed if she touched someone’s skin.   
“About time you showed up, you lazy shit,” she chastised, shaking her head even though she was unable to hide the excitement on her face.   
“Whatever,” he growled, his earlier irritation returning as he felt a twinge of anxiety. “Anyone else tracking tonight?”  
“It’s just you and Diego,” Ophelia said, folding her arms across her chest. “Unlike you, he answered right away and headed out a couple minutes ago.”  
Emyr relaxed a degree, smirking. “Yeah, but we both know my nose is better.”   
“Yeah, yeah, perks of being pureblood, I know, get on with it,” she waved at him impatiently.   
Shaking his head, he pulled out his comm and hooked it around his ear, then guided the little glass plate until it hovered in front of his right eye, where it would record a live feed so Ophelia could watch from her computer. “Watch my bike?”  
She gave him a droll look. “You think someone’s going to steal it while the whole area is crawling with law enforcement?”  
He raised his brows and waved at the museum. “This is Veywell. Anything can happen.”  
He smiled as he turned, hearing Ophelia’s grumbled agreement as she returned to the car.   
Heading into the alley, Emyr paused to inhale deeply. The scents around him became clear and rich. The night breeze, the earth from the museum garden, the far away smell of booze and regrets.   
The scent of blood.  
He flinched as the tang hit his nose in full force, carrying with it a spiciness that human blood lacked. It was like hot sauce as it stung his nostrils.   
Daemon blood.   
No wonder the human police hadn’t been able to catch the thief.   
He inhaled again, and registered a feminine scent. He blinked. Oh, Ophelia was going to love this.  
“It’s Daemon, and it’s female,” he said into the comm.  
“A fellow bad bitch,” Ophelia sang with glee. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet her. What are you waiting for? Go get her!”  
Shaking his head, Emyr continued along, tasting the tang of the blood he was tracking. It stayed in his mouth like a bad aftertaste. It was hard to concentrate on the scent when his body was again fighting the suppressants. Gods, how fucking many did he have to take to get some peace? He prayed he didn’t run into Diego out here. He was almost positive the other wolf would be able to smell what was going on with him.   
After half an hour of careful tracking, he realized he didn’t have to worry about Diego catching his scent.   
He’d followed the trail of blood past the spot where she’d fallen, through her trail of winding backroads and shortcuts, to a particularly large patch of blood spatter. Another scent entered his nose then, and he found the source of it a second later.   
Diego lay on the filthy ground, holding his nose and his crotch, looking as if he were barely conscious.   
All thoughts of his own bodily discomfort fled as he dropped down beside Diego. “What the fuck happened to you?” Judging by the fact he wasn’t already up and hunting again, Emyr assumed it had happened recently.   
The wolf groaned, eyes watering from the pain, his nose thoroughly clogged with blood, making his voice come out oddly. “Bitch lured me in. I thought I could cuff her and be done, but she jumped me. Go get her!”  
Jerking to his feet, Emyr called Ophelia to get a medic out to Diego, then set off at a run, following the blood scent. He’d have to be more careful than Diego had been if he wanted to catch her. She couldn’t be that much farther ahead—  
Pain blasted through his head as something struck him hard. His legs suddenly refused to support his weight, and he dropped down hard on his knees, holding his head and grimacing.   
What the fuck?  
“Will you assholes stop following me?”  
He blinked at the feminine voice, glancing up to find the silhouette of a woman standing over him. She actually had the audacity to look pissed, though he could only see the upper part of her face.   
“Stop stealing shit and turn yourself in,” he ground out, feeling his canines throb in his gums. “Then we’ll see.”  
She exhaled through her nose, and he noticed she was holding her side tight with one hand. In her other she held what looked like a broken frying pan. Glancing sideways, he saw the piles of garbage stacked beside them.  
“You hit me with trash?” Somehow, that seemed insulting.   
She shrugged and winced. “I thought it was fitting.”   
His vision swam. “Ophelia,” he groaned.   
It was then he realized his comm was not in his ear. Rather, it was laying on the ground near the thief’s feet. She raised a brow and glanced to where he had looked. A devious light entered her eyes.  
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, raising the pan and bringing it down hard on the little device, cutting off his only contact. He prayed Ophelia had been paying attention and not playing that cat game on her phone again.   
Pain lacerated his gums as his canines poked out.  
Fuck. Not now.   
“You people need to leave me alone,” the thief was saying. “Or next time, I may be more in the mood for knives. Perhaps a gun.”  
Emyr wasn’t listening anymore. He couldn’t pay attention through the pain radiating throughout his body. Her strike to the head had somehow loosened the effects of the suppressants, and he distantly wondered if it was his concentration that had broken. He could feel the change rippling down his spine, beginning to warp and shift his bones. Panic gripped him.   
No, no, no!  
This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Diego would be recovering soon. Ophelia would be sending reinforcements. There was too many people close by. Too many potential casualties if he lost it completely. While purebloods took great pride in their lineage, they had a higher rate of losing themselves to the wolf. Half breeds or mixed bloods didn’t have as much animal in them, they didn’t have a beast clawing to get out day and night.   
Emyr was unfortunate enough to be pureblood. And with that came a lifetime of medication to keep himself in check. It seemed he’d grown an immunity to that medication.   
Fuck.  
He panted hard, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried desperately to get a grip on himself.   
My name is Emyr Beaumont. I am not an animal. I am not an animal. I am not—  
The bones in his back creaked, and he sucked in a ragged breath. Holding it, he willed the change away, willed his hands to stay human. For a moment, he felt his body relax a fraction. A second later, his bones snapped and began rearranging themselves rapidly. His face elongated, his claws shredded through. Fingers shortened and fattened until they were padded, the claws digging into the ground. Hair sprouted, black as midnight. Within seconds, he was covered with it. Another few seconds, and there was no human left in him.   
Before the thief, a wolf rose, staring her down with amber eyes, lips peeling back to reveal razor sharp canines.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, shit.”  
Sidra wasn’t stupid enough to believe the cadre wouldn’t send a wolf after her. She had, however, expected them to stay in human form.  
“I’d say nice doggy, but you look like an asshole in either form, so,” she shrugged, wondering if he still understood her.  
There was a feral glint in his eyes that made her severely doubt he saw her as anything other than food. The night that had gone bad just got even worse. The bullet wound in her side ached horribly, though her body was already trying to push the bullet out and heal. But as she’d learned, the wound greatly limited her movement. If she had to run, she knew the wolf wouldn’t be the first to tire.  
Amber eyes tracked her every twitch as the wolf took a step forward. Then another. Sidra wished desperately she’d thought to bring a gun. Guns worked on wolves. Failing magic with little to no energy to draw on? Not so much. Even so, she raised her hands at the beast, wondering how long she’d be able to feel it tearing into her flesh before she died.  
The wolf paused, freezing for a few seconds. It shuddered. There was a low whine, and she realized something was wrong with it. Frowning, she took a step back. The wolf’s attention snapped back to her and she stopped all movement once more. She’d wait until the wolf had another fit and then bolt back up onto the roof. She could see the perfect path upward, and then she’d be free to use the rooftops—  
The man from earlier appeared from the alley, looking pissed, and then immediately confused.  
“Emyr, what are you doing?” the man- the first wolf they’d sent to track her- said.  
He inhaled, and sudden alarm spread over his face at the same time the feral wolf turned to look at him. Time moved strangely after that. Everything blurred, moving almost in slow motion. The wolf snarled and launched at the other man, who raised his arm to block, crying out as fangs sank into flesh. By the time they hit the ground, the man was already changing, body shifting to mirror that of the wolf attacking him. Sidra whirled and ran for her escape as the wolves behind her spat and growled and barked in aggression. There was a thud as one of them was slammed down on the pavement, a yelp and the sound of claws scrabbling.  
Sidra hurtled for the stairs, knowing that if she could just get to the top, she could use the escape ladder and the wolf wouldn’t be able to follow. But since even the best laid plans sometimes don’t work out, the plan she’d made in five seconds of fear also did not work out. She hadn’t accounted for the gate at the bottom of the stairs, tucked just out of sight and locked tight. By the time she realized she’d have to climb, she could already hear a wolf snarling directly behind her. Abandoning the stairs, Sidra bolted for the mouth of the alley, calculating how long it took to get into a car and drive away. Surely a car would be faster than any wolf, supernatural or no. At this point, she wasn’t even sure where she was anymore. The alley could lead to the road, or it could lead directly to the local police precinct for all she knew. But the hot huffs of breath coming from a maw of razor teeth told her she didn’t have the time to wait and find out.  
So she ran.  
And the night got increasingly worse from there.  
There was one particular park in Veywell that was surrounded by a steep incline on three sides, leaving only one point for children to enter or exit. It was a popular park, since it all but eliminated children running off and getting lost, as the incline on three sides was far too steep for them to climb. Unfortunately, Sidra soon found herself running off the top of one of those inclines. Gravity soon gripped her, and she went tumbling down. Her head cracked off a tree, her ribs found every rock on the way down, and when she finally hit the bottom, the full weight of the black wolf came down on top of her, forcing all breath from her lungs. Something cracked, and a wave of nausea washed over her so violently, she vomited sideways onto the grass.  
It seemed like ages but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before her breath returned, and she realized she was pinned. Fear struck her at the weight of the beast atop her until she realized it was unconscious. She’d hardly had time to cover her head after that initial hit to the tree, and she suspected that was the only reason she wasn’t bleeding out from blunt forced trauma. The wolf, however, hadn’t been able to protect his head, and hadn’t had time to course correct before he’d followed her over the edge.  
“So much for being the fiercest predator in the city,” she wheezed, pressing her bloody hands against its huge shoulder and pushing.  
It took a far too long to extract herself from beneath him. By the time she’d finished, he was halfway through shifting forms again.  
“You couldn’t have done that before I almost killed myself shoving your fat ass off me?” she snarled, then winced as her ribs twanged.  
Fuck, she needed to go home and sleep it off. Sitting and trying to even out her breathing, Sidra pulled her phone from her bag, a fresh crack spiderwebbing across the screen as she checked the time. Yeah, Uncle Ray wasn’t going to be happy she’d missed her meeting with him by over an hour and a half. But at least she still had…  
“Fuck.”  
Within her bag of diamonds and gold, the only item she’d been paid to acquire, the screaming crystal skull, was broken. The jaw had been torn off, and the upper part of the skull had been cracked wide open. Broken. Useless. Worthless.  
A string of Daemoni curses flew from her lips, and she shoved the bag away from her in frustration, gripping her hair in her fists and holding back a scream. This was about the worst scenario she could imagine. If Uncle Ray wanted something, Uncle Ray got that something. No exceptions. No excuses. And she’d failed horribly. Tonight had been the absolute worst she could remember. The man was the biggest crime boss and she’d just fucked her standing with him into oblivion. Ray Caldwell did not forgive. He was more in tune with vengeance and death.  
Nothing had gone right since she’d gotten her hands on that skull.  
Glaring down at the wolf, she saw a fully formed man, laying facedown in the grass. It seemed he didn’t retain his clothes when he shifted. At the very least, he couldn’t when he was knocked unconscious. Pursing her lips, she pressed a toe to his side, wondering if he was dead. But for the slight rise and fall of his back, he could have been. She could see criss crossed lines of what could only be claw marks across his olive skinned back, and she wondered briefly where they had come from. He had a dark mop of hair that covered what parts of his face weren’t planted in the grass, his arms spread in front of him. His hands were large, scars covering his knuckles and the backs of his hands. Her eyes wandered to his bare ass, and she wondered briefly what kind of exercise he did to have one so fine. What had that other wolf called him? Emyr?  
Distantly, she heard sirens approaching. Swallowing down her cry of pain, she managed to stand and retrieve her bag, knowing she couldn’t just leave it behind. As she moved to leave, she paused, glancing back. She couldn’t just leave him there, in a kids park butt-ass naked. When they found him, he’d tell them exactly what she looked like and exactly where to find her. The other wolf hadn’t gotten her blood on him. This one had. If she’d learned anything over the years, it was that wolves were relentless. And she’d touched him with her bloody hands. She could see a smear of it across his ribs.  
He’d be able to track her across the city. And that was only if Uncle Ray didn’t get to her first.  
Fuck had always been her favourite word, and it sure was getting good use today.  
Knowing it was just a matter of time before someone found her, be it Wren and his goons or the cadre, Sidra summoned all her strength and hauled the man up, draping his arm over her shoulders and gripping his wrist. It was only the remnants of her Daemon strength that allowed her to carry him. All that muscle made him heavier than he looked. So she half dragged, half carried him along, racking her brain on where she might be safe until she could figure out her next move.  
This side of Veywell was nice enough, with plenty of friendly folks and nice homes. What it was lacking in for Sidra was somewhere she could hole up. She had few friends to begin with, even fewer that could afford to live somewhere like this. But if she headed toward the less reputable neighbourhoods…  
It took over an hour to make her way to the Reject, dodging the occasional late night party goer and keeping the very naked wolf out of sight. By the time she stood at the back door to one of the most notorious night clubs in Veywell, light was beginning to filter through the trees, casting a new day onto the city. Balancing the man against her hip, she reached and tried the door. It wouldn’t budge.  
“Fuck sakes, Bern,” she grumbled.  
Glancing around to make sure there was no one to watch, Sidra curled her fingers around the metal handle and yanked. The frame splintered as the deadbolt tore free. But they were in. Sidra pulled the door closed as tightly as it would go after easing inside. Careful on the stairs heading down, she blew out a breath as she saw there was no one there. Good, she’d been counting on that.  
The basement of the Reject housed stock for the bar, along with a freezer for the food they prepared each night. It was dark and smelled about a thousand years old, with a cot in the corner and a tiny, basic bathroom set to one side, complete with a ugly tiled shower. The door that led upstairs into the club was securely closed, as it normally was in case a drunken customer managed to slip past the bar and wander down.  
Limping to the cot, Sidra dumped the man, glad to finally be done with his weight. He landed on his back, with one leg on the bed and the other dangling off. His front had similar scarring to his back, and she noticed there was a distinct mark over his heart, as if someone had intended the strike to pierce his heart.  
Leaving him, she moved to the bathroom, stripping her bloodied clothes and stepping into the shower. It took forever to scrub the dried blood from her skin. The bullet wound in her side hadn’t yet healed over, a sign the bullet was still within. Irritating, but not life threatening. When she was finished, she gave her filthy clothes a disgusted once over. She’d have to wash them before she could wear them again. It was fortunate there was a washer/dryer combo unit down here as well. She’d barely tossed them into the washer when she heard the door to the basement open.  
“Gods!” Bernadette gasped, jumping as she saw Sidra. She threw down the garbage bag she was holding and folded her arms. “Selene! What the fuck are you doing here?”  
Sidra shrugged, adjusting the towel around her chest before mirroring Bernadette’s folded arms position. “You said if I ever needed anything, I could come to you.”  
Though Bernadette wasn’t a large woman, standing at almost the same height as Sidra, she had a way of making her feel like she was two feet tall. When she glared, Sidra was shocked it didn’t cause physical pain. Considering the woman was the child of a succubus and a daemon, Sidra was surprised she couldn’t. Her black halter top and tiny shorts showed enough caramel skin to satisfy a sweet tooth, and her blood red eyes promised trouble.  
“I’m fucking positive that isn’t what I said,” Bernadette snapped, pressing a hand to her corkscrew curls and turning to pace. She froze. “And who the hell is this? Selene Sidra, I swear if you fucked this man in my basement, I’ll kill you.”  
Sidra slammed the washer closed as it began its cycle and stormed over to where Bernadette stood. “No, Bern, I didn’t fuck this man and I know you know that. He fucked me! Ruined my entire night, possibly my entire future.”  
There was a soft plink on the concrete floor, and they both looked down to the bullet that lay at Sidra’s feet.  
Somehow, Bernadette could always put even the most minor information together and find an answer, which is what she did right then. “You robbed that museum, didn’t you.”  
Though it wasn’t actually a question, Sidra pursed her lips and averred her gaze, nodding once.  
Bernadette let out a sound of extreme frustration, snatched the garbage bag, and stormed up the stairs to the back alley.  
“What the fuck happened to my door?”  
Sidra winced at the door slammed against the frame. Yeah, Bern was pissed.  
“I’ll buy you another,” she called up after her, hearing only a slew of curses one could only learn running a bar.


End file.
